angel," he said. "I reckon I'm about the
average, an' I've fell before temptation same as other men. But I've
drawed the line where you've busted over it. Mebbe if it was some other
girl, I wouldn't feel it like I do about Hagar. But when I tell you that
I've knowed that girl for about five years, an' that there wasn't a mean
thought in her head until you brought your dirty carcass to her father's
shack, an' that to me she's a kid in spite of her long dresses and her
newfangled furbelows, you'll understand a heap about how I feel right
now. Get your paws up, for I'm goin' to thrash you so bad that your own
mother won't know you--if she's so misfortunate as to be alive to look at
you! After that, you're goin' to hit the breeze out of this country, an'
if I ever lay eyes on you ag'in I'll go gunnin' for you!"

While he had been speaking he had holstered the pistol, unstrapped his
cartridge belt and let guns and belt fall to the ground. Then without
warning he drove a fist at Masten's face.

The Easterner dodged the blow, evaded him, and danced off, his face
alight with a venomous joy. For the dreaded guns were out of Randerson's
reach, he was a fair match for Randerson in weight, though Randerson
towered inches above him; he had had considerable experience in boxing at
his club in the East, and he had longed for an opportunity to avenge
himself for the indignity that had been offered him at Calamity. Besides,
he had a suspicion that Ruth's refusal to marry before the fall round-up
had been largely due to a lately discovered liking for the man who was
facing him.

"I fancy you'll have your work cut out for you, you damned meddler!" he
sneered as he went in swiftly, with a right and left, aimed at
Randerson's face.

The blows landed, but seemingly had no effect, for Randerson merely
gritted his teeth and pressed forward. In his mind was a picture of a
girl whom he had "dawdled" on his knee--a "kid" that he had played with,
as a brother might have played with a younger sister.

CHAPTER XII

THE RUSTLERS

At about the time Randerson was crossing the river near the point where
the path leading to Catherson's shack joined the Lazette trail, Ruth
Harkness was loping her pony rapidly toward him. They passed each other
within a mile, but both were unconscious of this fact, for Randerson was
riding in the section of timber that he had entered immediately af